


I Have No Comment on the Matter

by jujuberry136



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Humor, cm_exchange 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujuberry136/pseuds/jujuberry136
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It's all fun and games until somebody cheats at Klingon Boggle. Written for antoinettemason for the 2009 cm_exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have No Comment on the Matter

**Author's Note:**

> Errr... this strays a bit from the prompt, but if follows in spirit. Hope you enjoy [](http://antoinettemason.livejournal.com/profile)[**antoinettemason**](http://antoinettemason.livejournal.com/) ! Thanks to my awesome beta [](http://ambrosia4all.livejournal.com/profile)[**ambrosia4all**](http://ambrosia4all.livejournal.com/) , whose identity had to be hidden earlier. You are awesome!

They were supposed to be doing paperwork. Emily had promised herself she was going to get it all done tonight so she could enjoy the team’s stand-down weekend. The case had been bad, not quite Florida bad but Emily was considering declaring Utah level just below Florida level on the “BAU sliding scale of terrible crap they dealt with” by fiat.

Hotch had asked for their case reports as soon as possible. While JJ and Rossi had simply taken their notes home to write up, Morgan suggested ordering Indian and pulling an all-nighter college style.

“You know, that thing where us poor mortals had to pull when we needed to finish an assignment we put off ‘cause of that sweet honey in the third row,” Morgan explained to Reid, never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass him by.

“Really?” Reid had asked guilessly. “I’ve always referred to all-nighters as something you did when Hotch realizes you’ve been claiming your case reports are on JJ’s desk for the last three months.”

If looks could kill, Reid would have been deader than a doornail.

Of course, Morgan’s current position was giving Emily serious doubts as to his academic commitment as an undergrad. Not only was one cheek resting comfortably in his tikki masala, but the man was snoring loud enough to ensure he’d never see action with any women, third row or not.

Emily stood up, unable to come up with the correct phrasing for “the perv tried to cop a feel during questioning so I kicked him repeatedly in the balls.” In her experience, explanations like that never went over well when trying to explain why a prisoner had left FBI custody with more bruises than he arrived with. She wondered what Reid had written. She was tempted to take a peek at his wording, but after needing a dictionary to understand what he had written last time she got curious, Prentiss had sworn off looking at her colleagues’ work. Emily wondered idly if Reid’s paperwork was even read—she couldn’t picture Strauss willing to admit she was baffled over his word choice. Far less humiliating to simply file it and not look back.

Where was the kid anyway?  

She stood up and stretched a few times to loosen her shoulders. Her stocking-clad feet felt wonderful against the carpet, reminding her of the time she spent exploring the mountainside in her bare feet at her grandfather’s cabin. Every year her mother would be horrified at the sight of Emily’s feet covered in scrapes, hard-earned calluses, and bug bites. Her dress shoes always felt too tight when school started up again in September.

Seeing no one around, Emily didn’t bother to slip on her shoes as she wandered down to Garcia’s lair. The tech had mentioned reconfiguring…something this evening.

As she neared the door she could hear Garcia’s bubbly laughter echo through the empty hallway.

“I’m not cheating! You’re such a bad sport,” Garcia accused. “This is totally worse than that time when I beat you at Wii Boxing!”

“First off, you’re cheating — _jiyaji_ is a phrase not a proper noun. It's not my fault you aren't able to play by commonly accepted rules," Reid's voice replied. "Secondly-"

"Angel cakes, that argument totally isn't going to fly with me. You're really going to pull the commonly accepted rules thing? I thought I'd taught you better than that!"

Emily stuck her head into Garcia's office curiously. Her co-workers were sitting on the floor, papers, sweaters, and empty takeout boxes surrounding them. Reid's leg was propped on a pile of sparkly multicolored throw pillows. Garcia was lying on her stomach, one of her pigtails attempting to escape its neon yellow scrunchie.

"What's wrong with going by convention" Reid asked indignantly, waving his pencil in the air. "Common law systems are widespread throughout England and much of the former British Empire!"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news kiddo, but we kicked those suckers to the curb over two hundred years ago—why would we follow their weirdo legal system?" Garcia replied. "Plus you're just arguing because it gives me a three point lead!" She stuck her tongue out at her colleague before smiling.

"Hey guys," Emily said when it became obvious that neither had heard her entrance. "What's going on?"

Both agents jumped at her voice. "Emily?" Garcia asked, "What are you still doing here? It's," she looked down at her watch, "almost two in the morning!"

"Trying to finish some paper work," Emily replied. "Which is what I thought you were supposed to be doing, Agent Reid."

"Oh, I finished hours ago," Reid replied. "Plus, have you heard Morgan? I had to leave for my own sanity."

"Don't you dare tell me Morgan snores," Garcia warned.

"Sorry," Prentiss replied.

"Well, the man is too handsome to be a mere mortal, I suppose he has to have a single flaw," Garcia mused.

"A flaw?" Reid asked sarcastically, huffing slightly when Garcia crawled across the divide to slap him upside the head.

As Reid attempted to guilt Garcia into apologizing through judicious usage of puppy-dog eyes, Prentiss asked again, "So what are you guys doing anyway?"

"Playing Boggle," Garcia replied.

"Boggle? What the heck kind of Boggle are you playing with words like, what was it - _kiyaji_?"

Neither of the agents sitting on the floor answered her. Instead, Garcia looked at her watch once again and said, "I can't believe it's really almost two! I should get home."

"Don't want to leave Kevin alone too long. He might start reprogramming your personal system," Emily teased.

"Don't even joke about such things Emily Prentiss!" Garcia gasped. "Do you know how long it took me to get this place back to rights after he worked here?" She waved her hands dramatically a few times. "But he's at a conference in Chicago until Friday, so sadly Penelope Garcia's personal boytoy is not anxiously awaiting my return."

As Garcia stood up, Emily reached out an arm to help her still prone co-worker. Reid had finally stopped fighting them when they offered to help. While he was good on his crutches, Emily knew from personal experience that getting from sitting to standing was awkward—no person in their right mind would turn down a counterbalance.

Emily made a decision, no reason to stick around and pretend to do paperwork. Plus did she really want to hear Morgan's snoring for another hour and a half while she searched for the perfect sentence? "You need a ride?" she asked Reid when he'd finally balanced.

"If you don't mind," he replied as he searched for this things among the debris scattered around Garcia's office.

"Do you think we should wake Morgan up?" Emily asked as the trio made their way down the darkened hallway. "He's going to have a pretty terrible crick in his neck if we don't."

"Not to mention the chicken that will have probably congealed to his face," Reid replied.

Garcia stopped dead. "Do you mean to tell me that in this building Derek Morgan has literally fallen asleep in his food and I was not informed?" She glared at her two coworkers, who nodded slowly. "C'mon, we need to get to the bullpen before it's too late!"

When they arrived in the bullpen Morgan was still there, snoring as loudly as ever. Garcia approached the sleeping man quietly before whipping out her cell phone. "Say cheese my sweet slumbering prince," she whispered as she started to take pictures.

"Garcia," Reid hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Yeah," Emily added. "Why aren't you also taking video?"

"Good idea," Garcia cheered as she pushed a few buttons on her phone. After making sure the video was saved to her phone, she stuffed it in her bag before reaching out and shaking Morgan. He mumbled incoherently and pushed her away.

She tried again, meeting equal success as this time Morgan rolled over and started snoring again. There were bits of chicken now stuck to his left ear.

Garcia looked up, "Well, I tried." She shrugged, pulled her jacket on, and headed for the door with Reid right behind her. When she realized Emily wasn't with them, she turned and asked, "You coming?"

Emily hesitated, the catholic guilt over leaving a friend to wake up in pain (and in humiliation) fighting with her impulse to let Morgan deal with his own decisions. "Fine," she sighed. "But I'm totally blaming you when he starts whining about neck strain."

Garcia grinned as she pushed the down button repeatedly.

"You only have to push the button once," Reid said after her third touch. "The only effect pushing it multiple times is psychological."

"Just for that, I'm telling Morgan it was your idea to let him sleep here," Garcia said, then pushed the elevator button once more. When the doors opened immediately afterwards, she simply arched her eyebrow dramatically then sauntered inside.

Prentiss snickered as she and Reid joined her inside. As the elevator began its long descent to the parking lot, she frowned. “Wait a minute,” she said slowly. “You two never actually told me what you were doing.”  Garcia and Reid looked at each other uncomfortably. “I told you,” Reid began, “we were playing Boggle. Well, I was playing Boggle,” he corrected himself. “Garcia was cheating.”

“Oh don’t even get started Mister,” Garcia said hotly. “You cheat all the time at cards!”

“People are supposed to cheat at cards,” Reid replied.

Garcia frowned. “I don’t know what kind of crazy Vegas rules you grew up with, but that’s not the way it works out here in the real world.”

“Vegas is the real world,” Reid insisted emphatically. “And I’m not the only one who cheats at cards—JJ does it all the time!”

“Whatever,” Garcia said flatly. “Don’t think it’s not going down as a win in my book.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow at her bickering coworkers. “Guys?” She interrupted. When both turned around and looked at her, she said, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two start arguing whenever I press you for specific details. So either you two are a lot more competitive than I realized, or this is _really_ good.”

“I hate profilers,” muttered Garcia as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She looked at Reid hopefully, begging him to explain but Reid simply stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling.

Prentiss took a moment to admire his growing skill at maneuvering his crutches before staring at Garcia for an answer.

The tech sighed. “Fine, we _were_ playing Boggle. It just wasn’t Boggle in English.”

“Figured that one out on my own Penelope,” Prentiss teased. “What language?”

Garcia mumbled softly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said Klingon Boggle,” Garcia enunciated clearly.

Prentiss blinked. “And that would be?”

“Boggle played using the Klingon language,” Reid replied as the door chimed.

“Isn’t that a made-up language?” Prentiss asked dubiously.

“From Star Trek,” Reid confirmed as they headed towards the parking lot.

“Want to know anything else?” Garcia asked as she viciously opened her car door. “How long it’s going to take me find the rest of your yearbook photos maybe?”

“Peace Garcia!” Prentiss said. “My lips are sealed, I promise.”

“Fine,” the normally perky blonde said as she tossed her various purses and laptop bags into the backseat haphazardly. “It’s just…this is something fun, you know? It’s silly and it’s something that’s just for us.”

“I promise,” Prentiss re-confirmed. She and Reid watched Garcia’s Cadillac speed off into the night silently, each of them shivering when a stiff wind chased through the garage.

“Hey Reid,” Prentiss asked while waiting at a red light. “What’s the big deal with Star Trek anyway?”

Reid’s eyes grew impossibly large. “Which version?” he finally responded, clearly restraining himself from blurting out every factoid he knew.

“I know there’s more than one version,” Prentiss responded dryly. “But what’s so great about a series that’s mostly cheesy dialogue, bad special effects, and wooden acting? I mean, there’s got to be something about it that managed to get you and Garcia fluent in a fictional language to the point where you’re adapting Boggle.”

“The Klingon Boggle was actually an idea of a friend of mine,” Reid confessed absent-mindedly. He looked at her intently. “Do you really want to know, or are you just trying to make conversation until you drop me off?”

“C’mon Reid,” Prentiss protested. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know!”

Reid shrugged. “Do you want to know, or do you want to understand?”  

“Explain the difference,” Prentiss said as she turned off the exit for Reid’s apartment complex in Alexandria.

“I could tell you,” Reid said slowly as they came into view of his apartment, “Or I could show you.”

Prentiss thought about the invitation for a moment. She had the next two days to herself—did she really want to spend it trying to be convinced of the quality of a 1960s science fiction show? Then she looked at Reid’s face, closing off the longer she took to think. “Why not?”

Reid’s face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hotch frowned when he caught sight of Prentiss. “Isn’t the point of stand-down time to get some rest?” he asked gently.

She smiled at him, “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

Hotch was going to press for more answers when he caught sight of Morgan cornering Reid by the coffee machine. He made his excuses and went to go rescue his youngest agent — again. Sometimes Hotch wondered if the other section chiefs had these kind of problems.

“So where is it?” Morgan was asking in a low tone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Reid protested.

“Please, Garcia gave you up under a minute,” Morgan accused.

“She what?” Reid nearly shouted.

“Good morning gentlemen,” Hotch said as he neatly cut between them to grab a cup of coffee. It was terrible, as usual, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about sending Morgan and Reid to seminars again. He thought for a moment; they had both recently finished with anger management and career opportunities, so the next infraction meant back to sexual harassment.

“Hotch,” Morgan said tightly. Reid took the opportunity from Morgan’s momentary distraction to slip away back to his desk. Now he and Prentiss were talking excitedly.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Hotch asked as he looked for the creamer.

Morgan was watching Reid and Prentiss suspiciously. “Yeah, it was fine,” he answered distractedly. “You?”

“Good,” Hotch responded. He decided to try out a hypothesis and said, “Got all my paperwork done. How did the all-nighter turn out?”

Morgan flinched slightly before plastering on a smile. “My report’s on your desk,” he said.

“Didn’t Prentiss and Reid stay with you?” Hotch asked, trying to reign in his smirk.

Morgan groaned and glared at his boss. “They sent you the picture?”

“No,” Hotch assured the younger man. “They promised to stop doing that after the last time.” He waited for Morgan to relax before adding, “they sent the video this time.”


End file.
